


Let The Water Simmer

by Zeriku



Series: The Long Journey To Make The Best Chicken Soup [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Slow Burn, and a sprinkle of misunderstanding, super slow burn, though just a little bit of it is2g
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 06:35:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3239915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeriku/pseuds/Zeriku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard’s form takes up the length of the couch, a worn quilt laid on top of him. He seems to be in a deep sleep already, tempting Thranduil to hover and study the relaxed lines of Bard’s face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let The Water Simmer

**Author's Note:**

> I tried my hardest to finish this last night, but as you can see I failed due to being constantly sidetracked.
> 
> Very long intro because I love writing interactions between characters weh. Also I'm twisting some facts from the canon, though I guess they will be more apparent in the future. 
> 
> \---
> 
> Prompt is from [this Tumblr post](http://essiefied.tumblr.com/post/108501761514/au-with-firefighter-bard-and)!

Thranduil gently lays the folder down on his desk after hours of poring over it. He doesn’t watch as Galion takes it not a second later and excuses himself, exiting the room without any other words. Now left alone in his massive office, Thranduil lets out a sigh that spoke of his tiredness, slender fingers removing his glasses. It had been hectic ever since he and Legolas came back from their unplanned…leave. Not that Thranduil would ever regret it.

He smiles fondly at the memory of a feverish Legolas, of how his son didn’t mind calling out for him during the early hours of the morning. Thranduil sat on the edge of the bed whenever he heard the weak call of “Ada”, humming the tune that he knows Legolas still remembers from his childhood until the blond was fast asleep. 

These moments easily made up for the hassle that he faced during the times that he tried to run his company miles away from his office with only a poor wifi connection and terrible phone reception to help him. It didn't help that his _former_ secretary was of absolutely no use to him at all. It was probably the main reason why he didn’t feel the least bit put off when Galion told him on the second day of their stay in Dale that he had sacked Alfrid, Galion getting fed up with the man’s incompetence. For now, Tauriel has temporarily stepped in the role until they find a new and more suitable person for the role. 

Leaning back on his plush leather chair, blue eyes roam around the room, unseeing as his mind flashes back to what else made their stay at Dale pleasant. 

For one there was the kindly old woman whose inn they stayed into. Gertrude easily took up the responsibility of caring for Legolas, though she didn’t intrude on their space when she knows that she isn’t needed. She offered Thranduil to stay in the room next to Legolas, telling the man that it would be best if he doesn’t contract whatever his son has. When Thranduil declined, she makes an expression that was a cross between fondness and exasperation before leaving them to go make soup.

Thranduil made sure to leave a very reasonable amount on top of what she billed them for. He had a feeling that the rate she gave wasn't what usual customers get.

And then there was Bard.

Thranduil places his glasses on top of a notepad, his cursive writing catching his eyes for a second. He remembers how he tried to write Bard a cheque for all his efforts in aiding him and his son during their stay. Bard came by at the eve of their second day in the inn, careful with his footsteps and very much aware of the sleeping Legolas. The man needed to get an account of what happened back in the cabin. Thranduil doubts that that wasn't his main purpose for visiting, though, for he barely said no more than two sentences before Bard was slipping the tiny notepad and pen that he brought with him inside his jacket's pocket. 

He shrugged at Thranduil's inquiring look then, saying, "No one's gonna read this 'cept for me." He said it with a small smile, as though it was enough to quell Thranduil's constant worry of this incident being publicized. 

The blond will never admit that it _did_ have that effect on him. 

After that Bard was a constant presence in the room during the early evening, checking up on them. Just like Gertrude, he didn't linger for much longer than he was needed, which could be the reason why Thranduil didn't loathe it to have him in his presence. Sometimes he will engage with jesting with Bard, usually pulling out a bark of laughter from the man. 

He frowns. _Usually_ is the keyword in there; there was a time when Bard successfully managed to pull him out of their rented bedroom, assuring Thranduil over and over again that Legolas wouldn't be in a much better care than Gertrude's. Thranduil, for the most part, agreed because he did need some fresh air. The least part as to why he agreed to it was Bard's smile, impossibly alluring as it was. 

The man led him to the small diner right next to the inn, claiming a booth at the far corner. Thranduil appreciated the man's thought of his privacy, considering that most of the occupants have already craned their necks in an attempt to get a better look at their visitor. 

"Dinner's on me," Bard said then with an air of nonchalance. 

"How very generous of you," Thranduil replied. If there was a small smile in his lips there was no one else to see it other than Bard. 

They fell into a calmed lull then, patiently waiting for their meals with idle chattering. Their topics mostly consisted of the current events, though Bard made no mention or inquiries about Thranduil's own company unless the blond himself brought it in the conversation. It was a pleasant  dinner with a more than pleasant company, a combination that comes by rarely to Thranduil. 

"Sir, your son is on his way to your office," Tauriel's voice from the intercom tells him, effectively pulling him out of his reminiscing. 

"Did he say what his purpose is for coming here?"

"No, sir," Tauriel aptly replies. The intercom buzzes once more to signal the end of their conversation. 

 Thranduil sighs and waits patiently for his son, clearing his mind for the moment. It isn't long before there are light knocks on his door, his son letting himself in without waiting for his father's permission. There is a light in his eyes that belies his stoic face, one that Thranduil raises an eyebrow at in question. 

"I would like to get permission to take leave for this weekend until the next," Legolas states without preamble. 

Thranduil briefly glances at his computer's monitor. "Next Thursday is going to be Thanksgiving. Your Aunt Galadriel is expecting our presence in her home this year, given that we spent last year's at Elrond's."

Legolas' lips set to a thin line then, his expression one that Thranduil's familiar with. It's a good thing that his son has already outgrown the need to throw tantrums, but his tendency to give the person who's angered him the cold should isn't any better, either. 

"Where are you headed?" Thranduil asks when his son still remains quiet. After a couple more seconds, Thranduil adds, "Well?"

"To the _town_." Seeing his father's brows hit his hairline, Legolas's stoic façade falters as he breaks into a small grin. "I was invited by a princess into their home. It would be impolite of me if I decline."

“A princess,” Thranduil repeats, voice tinged with wonder and mild curiosity. 

“Bard’s youngest, Tilda. It’s such a shame that you didn’t met her or her siblings during our stay in Dale.” At his father’s blank stare, Legolas sighs. “Surely Aunt Galadriel will forgive me for my absence. Just this once.”

Thranduil remains silent, long enough that it has his son fidgeting in front of him. When he finally speaks up, it is with a sigh of faux reluctance. “One absence should be easily forgiven.”

“Really?” The sheer happiness that lights up Legolas’s face almost makes Thranduil bite back his own words. _Almost_.

“Of course. Save for when Elrond asks of us to visit him, we _very_ rarely decline your aunt’s invitations. She’ll find it in herself to forgive us both.”

As he has expected of his son, Legolas’s smile falters into a frown. “ _Us_?”

“Yes, _us._ It’s fortunate that I have already jotted down what needs to be done in the next couple of weeks. The company can function well even without our presence.” Raising a brow at his now gaping son, Thranduil adds, “It is you who said that it’s unfortunate that I haven’t yet met this princess Tilda.”

“I’m leaving today,” Legolas sputters. This earns him a disapproving glare from his father.

“Honestly, I thought you’ve outgrown _that_.”

“In my defense, I haven’t ran away for more than a decade now.” Running a hand through his hair and looking quite exhausted, Legolas says, “If you’re coming with, then you need to be out of this office right this second— what are you doing?” 

The blond stares as his father stands up and puts on his coat, pressing the intercom button briefly to say, “Tauriel, you will see whatever you will need in your email. Tell Galion that there is something for him here in my desk as well.” 

“ _What_ are you doing?” Legolas asks once more, watching as his father grabs his scarf and deftly wraps it around his neck. The man looks more than ready to go. 

“Going home,” Thranduil says, blue eyes sweeping across his room for anything that he may have forgotten. When he is satisfied that he has everything that he needs, Thranduil walks past Legolas, his son being spurred into action by it.

“This can’t be a good example to be showing to your employees.” Legolas muffles a snicker at the shrug that he receives.

“I’m the CEO. Surely this is a privilege that I am entitled to.”

* * *

“I’m guessing that this is also included to your  _long_ list of privileges.”

Thranduil hums, watching the scenery with mild interest. The first time that he passed through this road, nothing could stay in his mind. Now he can see the huge trees that line up the sides of the one-way road, and if there is even a small space in between the trees, he can see the sparkling of a lake as the setting sun hits it. 

Nothing truly beats being the passenger during trips. 

He hears Legolas sigh, and then suddenly the smooth ballad that they had been listening to is replaced by a song from the current year. Thranduil shoots his son a disapproving glare, one of the _many_ that he has given then younger blond for the past half day.

Legolas merely shrugs in reply, starting to hum along the song with a beat that grates on Thranduil’s nerves.

* * *

Dale is still as quaint as he last saw it, brick houses illuminated by the moon and the street lamps on the roadside. A few stragglers still populate the streets, most of them looking eager to be home with either their families or beds. Thranduil watches them with unveiled interest, straightening up in his seat once they pass the familiar inn of Gertrude.

“Not far now,” Legolas suddenly speaks up. He turns left at the next intersection, driving slowly until they reach the eighth house on the right.

Its make is the same as the rest, sturdy brick walls with a wooden door and glass windows topped with murky brown shingle roof. Despite appearing weathered, Thranduil can’t help but admire it as he steps out of the car. It looks like a…home, the carved pumpkins laid out at the foot of a makeshift scarecrow catching the blond’s blue gaze for a moment. He thinks back on their previous Thanksgivings, spent either on relatives’ houses or at the office, and the absence of carved pumpkins in them.

“Da, it’s Legolas!”

Thranduil catches sight of a little girl running toward his son, Legolas meeting her halfway and laughing as he lifts her up and spins them around. She shrieks in delight, eagerly wrapping her arms around his neck once he settles her on the ground, smacking kisses on his cheeks before letting him go.

“We’ve been waiting for you! Bain has actually started sulking because you said that you’d be here before the sun sets.”

“My apologies for making you wait. Someone wanted to tag along, which was why I was delayed for a bit.” Legolas gently turns Tilda to face Thranduil, the girl gasping as she finally took notice of the other man. Thranduil inclines his head a little to the side in recognition, wholly unsure how to greet or act with a child.

Tilda stares at him with wide eyes, unnerving Thranduil. Fortunately, it’s when a familiar face decides to join them, pulling the little girl’s attention from Thranduil effortlessly. “Da, Legolas is here and he brought another elf with him! The one that you were telling us about!” Tilda exclaims as she runs to her father. Even at this distance, Thranduil can see the surprise in Bard’s face, obviously not expecting another guest to be joining them. 

Thranduil ignores it for now as he glances at Legolas for an explanation, lifting a brow when he only gets an amused smile and a shrug in reply as he starts to take their luggage off the car’s trunk. Moving his gaze back to  Tilda and Bard, he sees the man approaching with Tilda settled comfortably on his hip. 

“Elf, hm?” Thranduil says by greeting, stomping on his want to feel _embarrassed_ when he realizes that he didn’t send word beforehand that he was coming with Legolas.

Bard shakes his head at that, doing a poor job at smothering his grin. “It’s Legolas who put the idea in her head first.” There’s a sound from behind the car that suspiciously sounds like an agreement. “See? Anyway,” he sets Tilda down, telling her, “why don’t you lead the elf king to our humble abode? I’m gonna help Legolas with their luggage.”

“Okay!” Tilda holds her hand out to Thranduil, who accepts it after receiving a nod from Bard. “We’re just about done with the soup, so dinner shouldn’t be that long!” the girl chatters as she leads Thranduil inside the house. 

The warmth quickly envelopes him, eliciting a sigh from Thranduil. He lets his gaze wander, taking in the rustic feel that the house gave off aided by the decorations and nature-colored rug that dominated the living room floor. The fireplace is lit, one of the main sources of heat inside, but Thranduil sees that it’s kept low and two buckets of sand are sitting just within reach. The air is rich with scent of chicken soup and baked bread.

“Tilda, where—“ the young woman stops as soon as she sees Thranduil. He easily recognizes her as Bard’s eldest.

“Sigrid, he’s the elf that Da helped last time!” 

“Ah.” Sigrid offers her hand to him the same way Tilda had earlier, smiling at Thranduil when he took it. “I’m Sigrid, though knowing Da, he’s probably told you about us and so much more.”

“Yes. Now I fear that perhaps he’s done the same to me toward you and your siblings.” His suspicions are confirmed when Sigrid laughs. 

“Don’t worry, everyone in this household knows when _not_ to share some things with the neighbors.” Sigrid motions for him to follow her into the dining room, a small space occupied by a round table. Already seated at one of the chairs is a young boy who stands up and immediately wipes his hands on his pants. “Honestly, Bain.”

Bain smiles sheepishly at his sister, sparing Thranduil a glance before he runs after Sigrid back in the kitchen. Tilda is curiously absent from his side, Thranduil wagering that the little girl has run back outside to where Legolas and Bard are. His eyes started to wander again, taking in the vast difference of this house compared to his own.

“I’m surprised that Tilda isn’t glued to your side,” Legolas says suddenly, slipping past his father and claiming a seat as though it’s his. “She wouldn’t stop talking about how _pretty_ you are and how your hair is perfect for braiding.”

Thranduil moves to stand by the seat next to Legolas’s. “No doubt another idea that you’ve planted in her head.”

Legolas’s grin is wide and bright, an image that Thranduil scarcely sees these days. “You’re not against it, though.” He snorts inelegantly as his father rolls his eyes, then stands up when Sigrid re-enters the dining room carrying a huge, steaming pot. He takes it from her and sets it down at the middle, Tilda handing him the ladle afterward before she climbs up the chair on Legolas’s other side.

“I hope no one’s allergic to garlic bread.” Bard comes in with a basket of said bread, Bain carrying a similar one but filled with dinner rolls. Once everything and everyone’s settled down, Bard gives his children a funny look as he takes the seat next to Thranduil, seeing as it was the only one left empty.

Thranduil takes this chance to say, “Thank you for inviting…well, for having us over.” He keeps a tight control over his expression, but something must have slipped because Bard is smiling that calming smile of his.

“It’s no trouble at all. You’re both welcome here anytime,” he says sincerely. “Now then, we shouldn’t keep the food and our stomachs waiting!” 

* * *

He knew that he should’ve stopped Bard and Legolas at their third glass of wine. Wine usually entailed trouble in the form of drunk men, and Thranduil is currently helping one of them get settled in bed. Legolas swats at him weakly when he tries to take his jacket off, making Thranduil grumble.

“He says he’s mature enough.” Once he’s finally wrestled the jacket off Legolas, he pulls the covers up to his son’s chest. His eyes becomes soft then, content with just watching his son sleep. He only moves when a soft knock comes from the door, Sigrid standing by it.

“Will you be all right sharing a bed?” she asks tentatively. Obviously she knows of who and what Thranduil is, but it is only now that she’s showing an awkwardness that is the result of being conscious about his status. 

“Yes. No need to worry yourself about us now,” he says gently. “Though are you sure that your father will be all right with giving up his bed for us?” Apparently this has been the norm ever since Legolas has started visiting the family, with Bard giving up his bed in favor of sleeping on the couch. It strikes Thranduil as intriguing, fueled further when Sigrid smiles sadly.

“Da will be all right. He actually prefers sleeping on the couch even more than he does here.” Meeting Thranduil’s gaze, Sigrid seems to consider something for a moment before saying, “Good night.”

“Good night,” Thranduil tells her retreating back. He doubts that he’ll be able to get some sleep despite being on the road for more than half a day earlier, Sigrid’s words already being replayed over and over again in his head.

He isn’t sure why he’s so interested of Bard; he doubts that it’s only because of the man’s smile, which Thranduil will argue is _truly_ highly distracting. He’s had a few dalliances during his youth when it comes to exploring his sexuality, and he’s sure that it takes more than a charming smile to lure him in. Perhaps Bard being a single father successfully raising three polite and wonderful children is one of the factors, seeing as Thranduil is pretty much like him in this sense. Which is probably why he was so attuned to every glance that Bard sent his way and to all the times that their hands brushed against each other. 

Thranduil pauses at taking his sweater off, pondering for a few moments before wrapping it tighter against himself and walking out of Bard’s bedroom. He takes one of the sheets the Sigrid has placed at the foot of the bed just in case,. He walks quietly toward the living room, the fireplace now housing embers instead of a low fire. 

Bard’s form takes up the length of the couch, a worn quilt laid on top of him. He seems to be in deep sleep already, tempting Thranduil to hover and study the relaxed lines of Bard’s face. Instead, he takes a seat on the arm chair across the couch, tucking his legs underneath him and placing the sheet that he carried over his lap.

“Can’t sleep?” Bard’s voice startles him, roughened by sleep and the wine. One green eye is studying Thranduil.

“Unfortunately, though it is wholly Legolas’s fault. He’s taken up most of the bed,” Thranduil lies easily. “Did I wake you?”

“No.” Bard closes his eyes and for a few minutes, nothing is said between them. Just as Thranduil thinks the man has fallen asleep, Bard says, “Sorry that there’s only one bed available. Unless you want the couch, that is.”

“No, no,” Thranduil hastily says when Bard moves to sit up. “The couch is all yours. Sigrid did say that you like it more than your bed.” Immediately, he regrets saying those words since a stillness takes over Bard’s form, fists clenching from where they’re clutching the quilt. It takes a while before he relaxes, a tired sigh escaping his lips.

“She’s way too perceptive, just like her mother,” Bard murmurs, so quiet that Thranduil nearly misses it.

“It’s a good attribute to have.”

“Aye, it is.” Bard tries to settle on the couch once more but never really achieving the comfortable position that he had been in a minute prior. “Helena was always praised for it, and it made it hard for the lads to approach her as easily as they do with others.”

“Including you, I’m assuming.” Thranduil keeps his tone gentle, urging Bard to continue talking while the wine still runs through his veins. This is the first time that he hears of the man’s wife, his curiosity burning stronger at each word that Bard says.

“She exempted no one from her rejections,” Bard confirms with a rueful smile, a smile that Thranduil decides he doesn’t like. “I suppose I only got through when I made a complete doofus of myself while trying to impress her _and_ her family. Never have I had so many pitying stares be directed at me before.”

Another lull of silence descends on them, fatigue now starting to creep into Thranduil’s body. He fights to stay awake, though, knowing that Bard has more to say. 

True enough, Bard continues, “Every day, I see more and more of her in my children. Sigrid, in particular, looks exactly like an exact image of her mother, so much that it makes my heart clench whenever I gaze upon her.”

“She has taken notice of it,” Thranduil deduces, which earns him a grunt of assent.

“That she did, plus other things,” Bard replies with a humorless chuckle. Heavy lids open once more to reveal green irises, darkened by sleep and some other emotion that Thranduil doesn’t want to put a name to. Perhaps this too is also an effect of the wine. 

Thranduil surprises himself when he asks, “What other things?” He waits patiently, holding Bard’s gaze up until the man closes his eyes, laying an arm over them as he speaks.

“That I’m…missing her. That I’m _lonely_.” The wine is certainly speaking for Bard now, Thanduil decides with no doubt. He has spent little time in the man’s presence that he can be hardly considered as a close friend, but he knows that Bard wouldn’t readily share these words to just anyone. 

When no other words follow, the blond’s mind begins to race through many different thoughts, belying the closing of his eyes and the slowing of his breathing, as though he has fallen asleep.

Could this mean that he has misinterpreted Bard’s intentions all along? The man probably was just searching for another kindred spirit to bond with, and Legolas had no doubt shared quite a bit about him and his family, including Thranduil’s loss of his own wife. It’s the only credible explanation that resonates with Thranduil now, remembering vividly how Bard’s voice sounded when he spoke of his wife. For all he knows, Bard may have just wanted to talk to another person who could _understand,_ both as a widower and a single father. 

Now feeling foolish for thinking that they had an _attraction_ to each other that would eventually be _more_ , Thranduil lets sleep claim him, uncaring of where he is or how sore his muscles will be come morning. 

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter will be clear of misunderstandings ~~also there will probs be matchmaker children~~


End file.
